ARF ARF ARF
by kamesen
Summary: Heather Mason embarks on the most horrible journey of her life. Warning: this story makes no sense, features terrible adult themes, and is completely and utterly screwed up. It is not for the feint of heart nor those with a weak bladder.


Welcom childeren to this story of beginninngs and love, a poetry so madly pashonite. Welcome. to Heather and Eddies love. Are you excited? I shore am.

--MISSION STATO.

A day, Heather sits out (THIS IS SH: SHATTERED MAMMORIES HEATHER, SO SHE'S TWENTY FIVE AND TOTALLY LEGAL AND HOT( and Eddie Dombrowski Wowski. There playing videogames in there house which there housemates in. Heather sighs uncontrollably at her fat friend, while Eddie sighs disdainfully at his not fat friend.

Sexual tension fills the air as helium fills a child's balloon.

Heather puffs her cheeks out subtly, widening her eyes and slowly looking sexy. Eddie is innocuous. Heather lets the breath out of her cheekies, blowing her bangs about. "...SO I WAS THINKING OF DYING MY HAIR BLONDE AGAIN!!!!!!" she screams wretchedly, causing Eddie to shriek in dismay and speel his dreenk. He looks at his crotch. "Oh nooooo," he moans softly/annoyedly. His crotch is totally soaked in espresso. Slowly, Eddie looks at Heather. He begins to expect that she will lap it up like a good girl should. But, she doesn't. "I'm not ready for this kind of commitment," Heather states, while totally making powerful eye contact with Eddie, just like Dr. Kaufman taught her to.

Eddie lets one rip. Heather goes back to shoving her controller between her legs so that the good vibrations roll everytime the spaceship in the game gets whacked by asteroids and laser fire. "Hhhhnnnnngggg..." Heather hnngs.

Eddie orders up some Chinese food. Suddenly, a shrill voice. "YOU BETTAH NOT BE ORDERIN' NO CHINESE FOOD," Lisa Garland, their track-suit wearing slut of a hemophiliac landlady screams from outside of the apartment. She tries to bust in, but the door is blocked by a week's worth of decaying pizza boxes. "YOU HAVE TO PAY THE RENT FIRST, FAGGOTS," Lisa mourns.

"Shit," Eddie hisses, and then he nearly shits himself as he attempts to rub one out while passions are high. "It's our fucking landlady, Lisa Garland." He is beginning to sweat. The stench is bittersweet, like that of the north eastern Japanese lilac. It's because Eddie uses hand soap from the dispenser when he showers, like a kind lad. He breathes hard and looks at Heather, but she is obviously trying to get off on the rumbling, buzzing lump of Playstation plastic that she has driven between her thighs like an apple crammed between two petite Christmas hams.

Heather slooooowly opens her eyes, looking pretty pissed off. "Eddie," she hisses back, letting her tongue loll out of her mouth for a split second, her eyes darting towards the door. "Get rid of her. Make up some bullshit story about how the roof is leaking. GO."

Eddie does as he's told. After all, it's his turn. Heather took one for the team last week and made out with the crazy bitch. It all ended in disaster/victory when Lisa got a nosebleed and fell down the stairs, breaking both her legs.

Eddie rips the door open with feverish fatman strenth. "HI LISA!!" he screams, his eyes panicking. The woman stares angrily/lustily at him, wondering just how long she could support his oh-so-satisfying weight before her lungs collapsed. "You can sit on my face any day," Lisa mumbles. "I mean THE RENT IS LATE," she recovers. Eddie cringes. "But the roof...uh...well.." Behind him, Heather is moaning languidly and pulling off her shirt with one hand, her left leg shakin' and her right leg quakin'. Eddie holds it together and continues the tale, moving in front of Lisa's prying eyes as he does so. "Ya see, uh.. yeah, it's leaking... uh, leakin' somethin' FIERCE-"

"AAAAAAaaaoooAAAHGHAH WHOOOOOOOOAAAA MAMMY!" Heather intercedes uncontrollably from further inside the apartment, gushing femlube all over the carpet and shorting out the PS2. The t.v. screen smolders, but she doesn't stop. Eddie swallows hard, meeting Lisa's incredulous eyes with chubbyboy innocence. "Yeah and we already paid you anyway."

Lisa narrows her eyes, growing giant fangs. "You haven't paid rent since you've BEEN HERE," she hisses. Eddie's knees are quakin', and it's not because he's having an orgasm, unfortunately. Quickly chugging a gatorade to rid his throat of the sudden dryness, he confronts Lisa's eyes again and begins to unbutton his jeans. "Uh, uh, yes we have," he mumbles, trying his best to look sexy. Lisa is obviously smitten, as a warthog to an apple. She starts rubbing her right breast with the rubber mixing spatula that she was carrying. There is still bacon grease on it. Eddie cringes, knowing that his numbers are up. "HEATHER WATER THE PLANTS FOR ME," he screams, as Lisa leads him out of the apartment and explains to him that she's going to go change and that he'd 'better not look at her in the mirror' even though she totally wants him to. The door closes behind them, followed by the slam of Lisa's body hitting the floor because of eight sudden nosebleeds and an eyebleed and a forehead bleed.

Heather snorts suddenly, jerking awake. One hand is shoved down her pantaloons and the other hand is gripping the couch hard enough to puncture the cushion. There's crusted female ejaculate and pillow stuffing everywhere.

"Whuh?" Heather grunts, wiping drool off of her mouth (but only making more of a mess on her face by smearing her own cold spunk across her cheek). She flinches in shock, swearing up and down like a sailor and limping for the kitchen, a PS2 controller cable trailing from her undies. "EDDIE." she calls, suddenly tripping over the housecat. "OW. Damn CAT." Heather decides to call her father.

(((SWITCH SCENES TO HARRY'S HOUSE)))

Harry Mason picks up his BRAND NEW IPHONE AND HE'S WEARING A HAWAIIAN SHIRT. "Harry Mason. You sock 'em, I'll drop 'em," he answers. Heather mumbles on the other end about this and that, her despair at the plight of her roommate, whatnot. Harry pretends to be interested while he doodles on a crossword puzzle. "Mmm hmm. Yep. Sure. Uh huh. TOLD ya that bitch was crazy. Uuuh huh." In the background, James is fucking the shit out of Cleavage Cybil and not even thinking twice about it. Heather inquires to the noise, but Harry passes it off as 'the wind' or some such. He smoochies his daughter with fatherly love over the phone and tells her to pick up that thing he wanted at the mall, and then hurls the phone out the window. It goes sailing three blocks and smacks Dahlia in the face, knocking her off her bike into the lake (the hot SH: Shattered Memories Dahlia). "AH FUCK" she screams, and sinks like a rock.

"AAaaaaand, DONE." Harry holds up the doodle. "Whaddaya think?" James looks up. It turns out that he was just jumping on the bed, and not having sex with Cybil at all. Meanwhile though, Cybil's tits have fallen out because she doesn't button the top eight buttons of her fucking shirt, and it's starting to give Harry and James boners and it's reeeaaaally weird. James twists his face in an uncomfortable glance. "It's very sweet, Harry," he softly compliments, ashamed. Harry sighs and pours his coffee all over the floor.

((BACK TO HEATHER))

"Funds, funds, funds," Heather Mason hurriedly flips through the paper. "Gotta get some cash, mullah, bucks, green, weed, blitz, noodle, barfbag, garden hose-" she hits an ad in the paper. "THERE." It's an ad for the rising populous of Babyfur Necrophile Vore fanatics that are preparing to take over the world. A slow grin stretches across Heather's otherwise unpsychotic face. "HEATHER OLD GAL," she remarks, tipping her fedora forward. "IT'S TIME TO MAKE YOU A STAR."

(montage of Heather lifting weights, running on a treadmill, rubbing one out, slapping herself in the ass while wearing nothing but panties in front of the mirror and yelling angry/encouraging things to herself, all set to 'Danger Zone')

Finally, we pan down to see a refreshed and ready Heather wearing her SH: Shattered Memories outfit and some cat ears. "Ready to do this thing like a mutilated CHICK-EN WING," Heather raps, and promptly accepts a bag of money from Ludacris.

She heads outside, passing the sexually twisted bodies of Lisa and Eddie on the way and whispering a lament for her poor friend.

Heather slams the door with soft gusto, ripping the handle off just to be sure that she's not followed. She straightens her cat ears and prepares to attend.. "..the two thousand and ten Babyfur Necro Vore con," she states, feeling a shiver of disgust/arousal shoot down her spine. And then she starts walking-

"HEY HONEY NEED A RIDE!?" Harry screams, suddenly pulling up in Cybil's car. He leans out the window, giving Heather a scary grin. "Get in." Heather stares for a moment. "Uuuuh.." she walks around to the passenger side.

"What about ME?!" Dahlia screams, already sitting in the passenger s-  
Harry kicks Dahlia out of the car, the door busting open as the girl's body goes flying. She shrieks in rage and slams into a lamp post and then a dumpster. Heather uncomfortably takes the girl's place, shooting nervous glances at her father while sweat pours down her face. Would he notice? Would he ask?

"WHAT'S WITH THE CAT EARS?!" Harry yells as he does a hundred and twenty miles an hour. Heather swallows extremely hard, resisting the urge to rub one out to relieve the stress. "They're for a social experiment," Cybil suddenly pipes up from the back seat. Heather turns and whispers a 'thanks!!! 3' to her 1/4 mom.

Harry crashes the car into a building, and Heather thanks him as she climbs out of the wreckage. Dusting herself off, she heads for the convention center. But she knows that her pep-pep will be watching. Wisely, she cuts across to the local drugstore to create a clever distraction.

"UM YEAH," Heather grunts as mannishly as she can (which only ends up being weirdly cute) and slamming an arm down on the counter. "I'D LIKE A BOX OF YOUR LARGEST AND MOST POTENT CON-DOMES, PLEASE," she asks, flashing a twenty. The woman behind the counter vomits and passes out. Heather begins to sweat profusely, knowing that her father's undismissive eyes are upon her. Every second counted. Any sign of d-

"HI HEATHER, YA NEED SOME CONDOMS?!" Harry screams. Heather nearly jumps out of her skin, climaxing eight times simultaneously from the shock. She spins around, planting her hands behind her on the counter to hold herself up. Harry grins at her. It's a pretty weird situation. Heather manages a shaky grin. "Uhhh, y-y-y-yyeah, dad. I sure do!" she fumbles. Harry's grin widens to near inhuman proportions. "WELL WHY DIDN'T YA SAY SO?!" he screams, slapping some mega condoms down on the counter beside Heather. She cringes at the warmth they emit. "THEY'VE BEEN SITTING IN MY POCKET FOR A FEW YEARS," Harry explains, shitting himself. "WELL GO ON, TRY 'EM ON." Heather is about to crack under the pressure, when Cybil makes the scene.

"Heather," the cop notes aloud, winking profusely. "Why don't ya go in the bathroom and do what ya gotta do with those. We'll be right here." Heather grins softly at Cybil, and Cybil winks at Heather again, and Heather winks at Cybil with a strange little squishing noise. After a few minutes of winking, and of Harry just standing there grinning, Heather scoops up the condoms and saunters towards the little girl's room.

By the time that Harry L. Mason realizes that his daughter is preparing to sacrifice herself by attending the Babyfur Necro Vore Shit whatevercon, it is too late. He runs outside and cries, everything freezes, Cybil's left tit breaks off, etc.

Heather slowly opens the door to the con. The stench that she detected outside quadruples, slamming into her nostrils and washing over her like a baby's diaper filled with carrots and dog shit. Gone were the days of Eddie's soap-scented skin and her father's cologne, and even the weird sock that Cybil used to get off on and then just leave around the house as a joke.

All eyes were on her.

Depraved lunatics rejected by society, so lost in various Freudian states of stunted sexual being coupled with the perversion of adulthood th-

"ONE OF US," THEY ALL BEGIN CHANTING, AND CONVERGE ON HER.

---

Heather: *leaning over my shoulder, but in a polite way that gives me enough space* So is this the part where I get gang-raped by a bunch of greasy, unwashed lunatics who've shit their fursuits?

Kamesen: *drumming my fingers on the desk, staring at the screen* You know what? I just had a big bowl of rice noodles and chicken, so I'm gonna say 'no' on that one.

Heather: *sighs in relief* Ok, good. Can we just say I slaughtered them all in a fit of rage and stole their wallets?

Kamesen: Comedy gold. *types that up*

---

So yeah that happened. Then Heather bought a Porsche and sped home, reimbursing her father for the condoms on the way. Soon, she had climbed the stairs to her apartment, to find Eddie and their landlady Lisa 'Spank My Tits Softly' Garland playing videogames.

"Hiya Heather," Vincent says, walking by. Heather shrugs weirdly at him and tosses down the cash. "Here," she laments happily, smiling. Lisa picks up the cash. "Thanks, little boy," she gushes, and stumbles out of the room, blood pouring out of all orifices.

Heather shakes her head and watches her go, then plops down next to Eddie and picks up a controller. "So then Eddie," Heather begins, "everything back to normal?" She smiles widely and claps her friend on the shoulder.

Eddie laughs. "Almost, Heather! While you were gone, I used your controller." He chuckles and shakes his head before continuing. "Now, everything that I put my hands on ends up smelling like your _vagina!_" He shrieks with uncomfortable laughter as the camera pans out, Heather sitting there in embarrassed rage, Lisa stumbling around the hallways and breaking all the lamps.

It's just another manic monday.


End file.
